


Story Hour

by FunkyWashingMachine



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Bedtime Stories, Bittersweet, Bonding, Caretaking, Crack Treated Seriously, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Drinking, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Love, Story within a Story, Storytelling, Underage Drinking, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 23:16:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16185245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyWashingMachine/pseuds/FunkyWashingMachine
Summary: Keith drunk-sits Lance and they exchange stories





	Story Hour

            Keith’s door opened without a knock.  It was Pidge, with Lance in tow.

            “Please take him,” she said.  “I’m too busy for this shit.”

            Lance hiccupped and giggled.

            “Hi Keeeeith.”

            Keith sighed.

            “Can’t anybody else do that?”

            “Probably, but you’re closest,” Pidge said.  “Coran says it’ll wear off in a couple more vargas.”

            The shikadi tonic they’d been offered on Vorticon VI.  Which everyone else had been smart enough not to partake in.

            Keith looked between them and crossed his arms.

            “Fine,” he muttered.  “But you’re gonna owe me a favor.”

            “What flavor?” Lance asked.

            “Not you,” Keith said.  “Actually, probably YES you, too.”

            “Thanks Keith,” Pidge pushed Lance into the room and left before the door finished closing.  It shut with an audible click.

            “So, buddy,” Lance dropped a hand on Keith’s shoulder.  “What are we gonna do in here?”

            “Probably nothing,” Keith said.  “I’m just gonna keep you out of the way until you’re better.”

            “Why, what’s wrong with me?”

            “You’re drunk.”

            “Oh, right.”

            Lance flopped onto the bed.

            “You know what you always need to help you feel better?” he said.  “A story.  Like my mom always does when I’m sick.”

            “You’re not sick, you’re drunk.”

            “Oh, right.  So does that mean you’re not gonna tell me a story?”

            “Uh… I’m not very good at telling stories.”

            “Pleaaaase, come on.”

            Keith sighed again and sat down next to him.

            “Okay, fine.  What kind of story do you want?”

            “Tell me the story about the time that GUY did that THING.”

            “That’s a little vague.”

            “Oh, you know the one,” Lance hiccupped.  “With the special rock.”

            “I don’t think I do.”

            “Oh my gosh Keith, it’s SUCH a great story,” Lance leaned against him.  “It’s the one where all the people were fighting over which way to butter their bread, and God looked down at his creation all like, ‘Holy crow, that’s bad,’ so he sent down his only begotten son Jesus Christ to go fix the Earth.  Are you always this cold?”

            “Yeah.  So, what did Jesus do?” Keith asked.

            “He drew the sword from the stone and became the rightful mayor of Constantinople.  And so now everyone likes him cuz he’s the king of the Jews, and they’re being his followers and stuff, and he says to them, ‘Guyyys.  This bread you’re fighting over is my BODY.  And you gotta butter ALL of me.’”

            “I don’t think this is how the story goes,” Keith smiled a little.

            “No, listen to me, Keith.  Cuz like, this is how the Sharks and the Jets all came together and shared Jesus, and it was a Christmas miracle.  Somewhere around 300 BC.  And then Jesus died because his work on Earth was finished, and that’s why nowadays his face appears on toast in the news.”

            “Well.  That’s a story.”

            “Your mom never told you the story of Christmas?”

            “No.”

            “What DID she tell you?”

            “Uh… most of the stories I heard as a kid were from my dad.”

            “So what did HE tell you?”

            “Well…. I don’t really remember them all that well.”

            “Awwww, KEITH,” Lance fell over in his lap.  “You gotta at least TRY.  It’s probably AWESOME.”

            Keith fidgeted with the edge of Lance’s hood.

            “Well… it wasn’t always really a STORY exactly, just… stuff.”

            “What KIND of stuff?”

            “There was something about a digger wasp…”

            “A what?”

            “A wasp that buries her eggs in the ground.  And even though she won’t be there when they hatch in the spring, they come out and they see this nest that she’s made for them, and the insects she’s left to feed them, all the things she did to keep them safe, and that’s how they know…”

            “How they know what?”

            Keith looked away.

            “Can we talk about something else?”

            “Like the fact that you need one of these?”

            Lance poked him with a tiny flask.

            “They gave me like a bunch at the party,” Lance said.  “But I think you need it more than I do.”

            Keith hesitated, then took it.

            It didn’t taste so bad, but it burned going down.

            “…Thanks,” he said at last.

            Lance yawned and closed his eyes.

            “No problem, tiger.”


End file.
